


tip of my tongue

by bxnmitchell



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxnmitchell/pseuds/bxnmitchell
Summary: he’s nearly said it so many times – truly, he has.orevery moment since callum's first "i love you" that ben's been on the verge of saying he loves him too
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	tip of my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> based on canon scenes and organised around canon dialogue, and touching on spoilers for tuesday's episode

He’s nearly said it so many times – truly, he has – but as he stands in Callum’s kitchen, the quiet glow of fairy lights struggling to illuminate the excess of gaudy, outdated decorations that sing of Christmases long-forgotten, warm hands cradling his face, knowing in his heart _exactly_ what’s about to happen, he’s never been so grateful that he couldn’t muster the courage. If he’d been that little bit braver, if he’d found that courage before now, before Callum had found it himself, he’d never be able to make him believe a word of what he knows he’s going to have to say next. He shakes his head, tries to get him to stop, but it’s too late.

‘And I am in love with you, Ben. Real and proper love. And it’s beautiful. Or it should be.’ And he’s right – it should be beautiful, shouldn’t it? He should be able to shout it from the rooftops that _of course_ he loves him too. But Callum’s said it himself: _it’s not that simple_. One last moment of self-indulgence, then: one last deep breath in to give himself time to commit the sensation of the electric touch of those hands against his skin to memory and talk himself out of telling the truth, out of marching over to Number 55 and telling his dad he’s not doing this anymore, and he’ll be gone. He promises.

In the mere minutes that follow he does everything he can, lets him down gently over and over again with every line in the book he can think of, but Callum’s just not buying it. He’s better than that; he knows _Ben_ better than that, and no variation of _it’s not you, it’s me_ that Ben could force himself to string together is going to cut it.

‘I don’t love you.’ Callum’s face falls completely blank, and Ben knows that with one awful lie he’s done it, _succeeded_ , and nothing could feel further from victory. ‘I don’t love you. And I don’t want your love.’

It’s worse the second time.

‘For you, Ben. Because I love you.’

It’s worse, impossibly so, because suddenly they’re not dealing in hypotheticals. There’s no vague notion of a _something_ waiting to happen, _something_ that’ll be over soon, and then everything can be okay again. This isn’t an idea. There’s no abstract figure of a _someone_ that Sharon’s had an affair with that Phil wants Ben to do _something_ about – he can’t fool himself into thinking there’ll be an escape route, a get-out clause. He can’t forget about a future he can still change by taking his daughter to a Christmas fair and letting Callum put some elf ears on him and pretending to be annoyed about it. It’s too late. It’s past-tense, _and it_ _always, always will be_.

His addled brain formulates two drastically insufficient responses: _I love you too_ , and _no you don’t, Callum_. _I love you too_ doesn’t fix this, and he can’t give Callum – or himself, for that matter – another morsel of hope when he’s still denying him the truth; _no you don’t_ gives Callum the chance to twist the knife once more with his inevitable, gentle _yes I do, Ben_ , and then where will they be?

'You know how I feel about you, Callum. You know.'

And that's as close as he can get. He bites back what’s on the tip of his tongue, he steels himself, and he follows Callum’s instruction: he gives him _one good reason why they can’t just be happy, one proper reason_ , hopes that he’ll walk away, quietly prays to God that he doesn’t, and dares him to say it again.

‘Now you sit there, and you tell me that you’ll love me no matter what.’

He starts to find his own train of thought consistently interrupted by a voice that sounds all too much like Callum Highway. He can’t be certain if the fragments of silent speech that arraign his every move are recollections of Callum’s many attempts to talk him round or if he’s awarded his moral compass a mouthpiece it doesn’t deserve, but he’s sure it’s Callum that changes his mind and gives him the strength to speak as he sits opposite his father in the back of a cab.

‘I can’t run anymore, Dad. I don’t want to. I know that you said that… That everyone you cared about was coming with you, but that ain’t the same for me.’

Phil doesn’t even flinch, just tells Ben he’s _proud_ of him, and Ben freezes. He's wanted to hear that forever, for as long as he's known what _pride_ was. Not just a deadly sin - and Christ, he's racking those up, isn't he? - not just a pack of lions. And now here he is, Daddy Lion, leader of the pack, telling him he's _proud_.

Ben thinks he should have felt the earth shake beneath him at the utterance of the words he’s been striving towards his entire life. But Jay was right all those months ago: _he is not a God. He is a man_.

So, nothing happens.

Phil opens the door, and before Ben can stop himself, he’s calling Callum’s name across the market.

‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘I’m staying.’ He tells them both. ‘I never really believed that we’d work out; I never let myself believe it. When I said that we wouldn’t work out, it’s because… Because you’re a good person, and I’m not.’

‘So then why are you here?’ There’s a right answer to that question, and every fibre of his being wills him to give Callum that answer, but he can’t do it. Not yet, not like this. Not with an audience. There are other things that need to be said first, other things that need to fall into place, other stars that need aligning.

‘Because you make me want to be better.’

By the time Callum’s first assessment date rolls around, they’re not out of the woods, but they’re pushing forward, and Ben’s not about to let Callum throw away his potential over some mindless comment of Stuart’s. He tries for equilibrium, calling a flirty comment from the bedroom doorway to create some semblance of normality, but Callum’s retreating into his insecurities. So, Ben changes tack: he lets Callum see himself through Ben’s eyes, as Ben has come to see himself through Callum’s.

‘Why are you bothering, anyway? You don’t even want me to be in the police.’ Callum responds.

‘I want you to be you. And if that means I’ve gotta drag you to that assessment myself, then I will.’

‘You really think I can do this?’ Ben scoffs, keeping the tone light, keeping Callum up.

‘Ain’t even a question.’ Callum smiles that warm smile of his, curls his fingers tighter around Ben’s. ‘I’ll see you at The Albert after, alright? And go with the red tie.’ He stands, pressing a lingering kiss against Callum’s forehead and making his exit. He could have said it. He knows he could, but he’ll wait. He’ll wait and he’ll tell him afterwards. He’ll greet him with a drink, listen to Callum tell him about every tricky question and every perfect answer, and choose exactly the right moment to say _I’m so proud of you. I love you_. They’ll be further out of the woods, further towards the light.

And then it’s darker than Ben can ever remember.

He should be relieved to see Keanu Taylor alive and well, because that past-tense, irretrievable sequence of events that still has him jolting awake in the middle of the night, t-shirt soaked through with sweat, heart racing, has just erased itself. He’s in a different timeline. But the ghost in front of him is winding Callum’s tie around his hands, stretching scarlet satin against his knuckles, and Ben swears he’d do it all again, he’d deal with a lifetime of nightmares if it would make Keanu disappear. 

When Keanu calls him that same evening, he’s prepared himself for a fight, for a negotiation, but not for muffled, pained whimpering.

‘Callum? Callum is that you?’ He’s giving himself away. He rapidly recollects himself, remembers that if Keanu has learnt this from anybody, he’s learnt it from Phil. Phil’s clever if not kind, clever enough to know how to put the fear of God into somebody. ‘Nah. Nah, that ain’t gonna work, Keanu, alright? That could be anyone. You don’t have the guts to do it yourself, alright? So why don’t you just… You let Callum go, and we’ll call it quits, yeah? You’ve had your fun.’ His phone chimes against his cheek, buzzes in his hand, and the photo that appears on his screen dissolves the bravado that he and Keanu have inherited from the same man. Panic rises around him. ‘Yes. Yeah. I-I believe you, alright? I’m getting you your money. I’m getting it. I am.’

If Ben can hear Callum’s cries, there’s a chance Callum can hear Ben too. He hesitates, tries to decide if he should say something directly to him, if he should call those three words loud enough for Callum to hear them, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let Keanu Taylor be the first person to hear him say this out loud.

The line goes dead. ‘Wait!’ He throws his phone toward the sofa, and he screams. In the cloud of his tears, Ben feels a tiny speck of gratitude that Keanu had ended the call and denied him the chance to say anything, because Callum’s a master of Ben’s subtext. If he’d heard those three words bellowed desperately through a burner phone into the wide expanse of a freezing cold warehouse, he’d have heard seven more: _in case I don’t see you again_.

In the aftermath of the boat crash Ben finds himself in the middle of the Square, numb in every sense of the word, droplets of ice-cold water falling against his forehead and mingling with burning hot tears, mere metres from the very spot he’d been standing in when he’d tried to save Callum from him, from all of this. He sobs, screams his name and hopes against hope that Callum will manifest before him.

When he comes face to face with Jay and Lola, he speaks plainly, tries to keep his voice at what he hopes is a level volume, but it doesn’t take too long for Jay to figure out that he’s lost his hearing. As far as Ben’s concerned, this is secondary; Callum is his priority. He brushes off their many attempts to convince him to go to the hospital, simply responding _I need to find Callum_ each time, relenting only when Lola reminds him that _Callum would want you to sort this out_.

He’s out of the audiologist’s office as soon as he can be, turning his attention immediately back to the task at hand. When he to the house hours later, body heavy with exhaustion he won’t allow himself to feel, he’s no closer to Callum than he had been that morning.

[18:19] Ben: _I’m sorry_

[18:19] Ben: _I’m looking for you_

[18:20] Ben: _I’ll find you_

[18:20] Ben: _I really need you_

His fingers hover over the keys again, thumb pressing light as a feather against the letter I, but he deletes the character the second it appears on the screen. Sending that fifth text would be resignation. Callum’s phone will have long-since run out of battery, and he will not call this into the void. He will not give up on him: he’ll say this in person.

By the time Ben, Jay, and Stuart arrive at the warehouse Keanu’s calls have been traced to, Ben has imagined this moment in every conceivable configuration. Every variation of the scenario ends the same way: he takes Callum into his arms and tells him the truth, tells him that loves him and that he can’t remember what it felt like not to.

He glances in the right direction at the right moment, a familiar medal on a small strip of ribbon calling out to him from the concrete floor like a riddle waiting to be solved, and then he sees him. He sees Callum, unconscious, surrounded by rubble and shrouded in a translucent plastic tarpaulin. The words that have been on the tip of his tongue for days on end evaporate.

Stuart gestures wildly for Ben to take his coat off, brings him out of his startled stupor. He crouches by Callum’s side, smooths his fingers against the checked material of his own jacket, he tucks it underneath his chin just as a thin beam of light catches the silver signet ring that sits permanently on the fourth finger of his left hand, hiding a scar that in turn obscures a four-letter name written in cursive. Every ounce of the adrenaline fuelling Ben's body scarpers as he stumbles away from Callum, watching on in a daze as the paramedics arrive. He’s been here before. He’s been right the whole time.

‘Saved him? _I did this to him_.’

Now that he knows Callum’s safe, he keeps his distance, fearful that Callum might finally have seen sense and certain that he doesn’t deserve any forgiveness he might otherwise offer. But Kathy’s looking at the doorway behind her, and he instinctively follows her gaze, and _there he is_. He falters slightly as he takes in the vicious marks underneath Callum’s eyes and across his cheeks, clenching his jaw against the tears that threaten to fall at the realisation that he might have the chance to say it after all, to tell him.

He has to give him an out first, though. One last lifeline.

‘I’m no good for you, Callum, alright?’ He turns away, bracing his hands against the edge of the kitchen counter, so that he doesn’t have to try to decipher Callum’s response, doesn’t have to watch him leave.

Only, he doesn’t leave.

That electric touch is back, committing itself to his memory all over again as it traces I <3 you against the felted charcoal of Ben’s coat and sending shockwaves through his entire body despite it.

For just a little while afterwards, it’s heartfelt, and it’s playful, and it feels like _them_ again even after everything that’s happened, even though the entire world is off-kilter, but all good things must come to an end, and everything he’s held in comes crashing down around him.

Callum does his best. He really, _truly_ does, but Ben’s spent so long trying to prove he could navigate Phil’s world that he finds himself unable to relinquish that facet of his identity, that _control_ , refuses to let the universe, disguised as a Liverpudlian gangster, pull the rug from underneath him again. There’s a demeanour that accompanies that world, and Ben still hasn’t shaken it by the time Callum’s standing in front of him, both of them still riled from their separate exchanges with Jack. He meets Callum with a brash, cold indifference that isn’t really meant for him.

‘Go on, then. Do your worst.’ He glances towards the floor, unwilling to fully engage, but Callum’s striding towards him, forcing him to look up.

‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’ That’s all it takes for him to crumble. He grabs desperately at Callum’s coat, apologising repeatedly as he tries to make out Callum’s anguished questions. _Do you do the same, Ben? Do I even cross your mind?_ _What about me?!_

He curls in on himself, pressing his hands against his ears in a desperate attempt to alleviate the ringing, and feels a gentle hand on the back of his head.

He's closer to saying it than he's ever been, but he hasn't held it in this long to blurt it out at the wrong moment. He won't be forced to show his hand, won’t let the phrase tumble involuntarily from his lips, refuses to let himself make a confession in the midst of the panic; he won’t risk Callum telling him he doesn’t mean it. So, just for now, he’ll take solace against the crisp cotton of the shirt Callum wore to the assessment he was late for, where he no doubt blew them all away. He’ll treasure the feeling of those hands cradling his face, echoes of _and I am in love with you, Ben_ creeping up on him, and try not to think about every painful second since Callum missed his first assessment date.

He’ll wait.

He’ll wait, and he’ll whisper it in the still of the night when he can be sure Callum will know he means it, that he’s never been so certain of anything in his life.

‘I love you.’

He’ll finally have told him the truth. And Callum will look at him with that same blank and bewildered expression that embedded itself in his features when he’d told him that _awful_ lie back in December, but this time that gorgeous face cast in Rembrandt lighting in these early hours will slowly break into a smile.

The earth still will not shake, because nothing will have changed. It’s always been true.

_Cross his mind?_ My God, darling, you’re never out of it. You’re anywhere that he is.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments always appreciated! 
> 
> find me @bxnmitchell on twitter!


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